In Springtime . . .

An Old Man's Fancy turns to thoughts of . . .




NO, NO, NO!!!

NOT footwear. Raise your thoughts, man! Elevate your mind!!




NO! NOT fashion, either. Try for a moment to look beyond the attractive surface to that which is important and real and enduring. There's a horse in that picture.

Yes, today is Oaks Day; and that means tomorrow is Derby day. And that means that as soon as you get done turning in grades, it will be summertime.

Tomorrow, the 3yo colts who last week wore yellow saddlecloths in their morning workouts will load into the gate for the 135th running of the Kentucky Derby.




And later today, the 3yo fillies, who last week trained in their pink saddlecloths will compete beneath the twin spires in the Kentucky Oaks.




But last week, before the hubbub started, we had a chance to visit quietly with Rachel Alexandra, the filly who was last year's Horse of the Year. She was noticeably relaxed during her morning bath. Her most devoted fans find her beautiful, but she is actually somewhat homely in the way fine racemares often are. There is a tradition that many of best racemares are lop-eared. While the great mare Zenyatta is photogenic and loves to pose for photographers, Rachel (when relaxed) is a study in benign indifference. Her curiously marked face blends with the soap suds, and she seems almost ordinary at first glance. But look closer and it is easy to see her beautiful topline and remarkable shoulder, how well-balanced and clean-limbed she is. Some horses are fast just standing still.








Last month, in New Orleans, Rachel was upset by Zardana on her return to racing. This afternoon, before the Oaks, she will attempt to gain revenge. If she does so, perhaps we will see soon a race in which she takes on the great unbeaten mare, Zenyatta. It would be a race that would overshadow even tomorrow's Kentucky Derby. Though rain is in the forecast for Louisville tomorrow, at the moment, the sun is shining, and the pleasures of summer beckon.

Free Flight

In springtime, all things are possible.

The world outdoors comes in, and we travel out . . . at least in our imaginations.



The air is fresh, the smells are sweet, and the birds chirp incessantly, their music drawing us like Sirens. Each day, new leaves appear, new flowers bloom, and new songs fill the air in a busier and more active chorus than that we heard the day before.

Even here, in this cool northern clime, the freshness of the air sings to us of magical, transcendent possibility. We can imagine the glory of Remedios the Beautiful, hanging washing on the line, when suddenly, surrounded by butterflies she simply ascended, leaving the dull earth below. In spring, all flights are possible.

And so it was last week, that my own Remedios the Beautiful was drowsing at my feet, in the relaxation of feline torpor, when her bumbling brother Paxil began to climb the chair behind my head. Distracted from my computing, I grunted my inarticulate irritation, just loud enough to suggest to him the advisability of dropping lightly to the floor.

This feat he accomplished, landing . . . alas . . . within inches of the drowsy Remedios.

Nothing awakens a cat to action like terror.

Before her eyes were open she had leapt halfway across the room, and in a single bound, while opening those eyes, she cleared the other half to land lightly on the trunk before the window.

Without pause or hesitation, for eyes so newly opened, have not apparently yet focused or communicated to the brain, she launched (like a character in a weekend cartoon) her little, fiercely muscled body directly into the screen that separated our world indoors from the springtime opening up beyond.

There was that odd, surreal, cartoonish moment when--for a split second that hangs in freeze frame of the memory--cat and screen hung together, suspended . . . now nearly a foot beyond the outer wall.

Then gravity returned, and cat and screen disappeared to earth below.

By the time I got outside, she was slinking back toward the door--her tail like a bottle brush, four times its usual size. She investigated the first floor window--not the one from which she launched a floor further up, but still well above her outstretched nose--with a mournful howl, then let me usher her back into our familiar confines.

The screen was replaced, order was restored, but springtime remains a beacon for the curious.

Remedios resumes her perch.














Shiva contemplates the impossibility of the tale he has been told.








And from time to time, Remedios reminds herself of how the impossible becomes real, and cats fly, and springtime is once again--like her--in the air.

Disappearing Soon

In winter, you can see deeper into the woods here.

It's just that there isn't much to see.

There's seldom any snow, just the grey-brown vertical lines of tree trunks, blending closer and closer together the further you look; and the mottled dappling of brown leaves on the ground make an uneven horizontal carpet. Between earth and sky a few pale stubborn leaves of faded gold cling with tissue-paper tenacity to the branches from which they refuse to fall, and catch the pale light that slants across the view at a chilly angle from the north. Even a bright day can seem fog-shrouded and overexposed at the same time.



But sometimes, when you look closer, those delicate pastel shades move slightly and reveal a life you may not have noticed right away.













There is so much to see that sometimes you look right past them.









I'm always happy to see them when they come up.



















But spring is coming back, the leaves are returning to the trees, and the shades of winter will soon disappear again.